


Sacrifice

by anglophileadventures



Series: Fractures and Fragments [4]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Gladers, The Glade, also some background Newtmas, book!verse, concurrent with TMR, sort of Nalby, up for the reader's interpretation, very subtle but it's there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 18:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15563838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anglophileadventures/pseuds/anglophileadventures
Summary: Alby hadn’t been the same since he’d been Stung. That’s what Newt told Thomas, and it was true. It broke Newt’s heart. Alby had been the one to give Newt hope, a purpose, when he had none. And now Alby had lost all hope, just when it seemed they finally had a chance to escape this miserable hellhole.Newt is worried about Alby, post-Changing. As it turns out, he has very good reason to be.





	Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I must give a huge thank you to all the usual suspects: Amirah ([thatdragonchic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdragonchic/pseuds/thatdragonchic)), Chloe ([fansarewaiting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fansarewaiting/pseuds/fansarewaiting)) and Dreams ([tasteofdreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tasteofdreams)) for being so supportive of me and for waiting months and months for me to get my shit together and finally post this series. You guys are the best, I'm so lucky to have friends as amazing as you, and I definitely couldn't have done it without you. Thank you <3

“Minho.”

Minho’s eyes flew open at the sound of his name being spoken, and they swiveled to lock onto Newt. “Newt,” he said. “What’s up?” He gave a feeble attempt at a smile. He looked exhausted.

“There’s something I wanted to ask you,” Newt said. Minho waited silently, but Newt suddenly seemed unable to find the words he wanted to say. He swallowed, trying to formulate his question.

“If there’s something you want to say, spit it out,” Minho said finally. “I’m trying to sleep here. I’ve been up all night, running away from Grievers.”

“You should have left Alby,” Newt blurted. “The practical thing to do would’ve been to leave him and run back. You could’ve made it on your own, easily. At the very least, when he collapsed just outside the doors, you should’ve left him. You could’ve made it in time if you’d run for it.”

Minho eyed Newt carefully. “I’m not hearing a question,” he said.

Newt took a deep breath. “Why?” He said it so softly, it was almost a whisper. “Why did you save him? You didn’t have to. No one would’ve blamed you.”

Minho slowly propped himself up, until he was sitting up, leaning back against the wall. “I think you know why,” he said quietly.

Newt went and sat on the edge of the bed. Minho drew his knees up to make space for him. “Why?” he asked again. “You don’t even like Alby that much.” There was the hint of wry laugh in his voice, the black humour they used to cope with daily life in the maze.

Minho’s eyes never left Newt’s. “ _You know why,_ ” he said again, and he sounded almost desperate.

Newt didn’t say anything. He needed to hear Minho say it, out loud.

Minho broke his gaze and looked down at his sheets. “I couldn’t stand imagining the look on your face if I came back without him.”

A lump burned in Newt’s throat, and unshed tears stung his eyes. “I would have forgiven you,” he whispered.

Minho looked up sharply, his eyes piercing Newt. “Would you?” A tear trickled down Newt’s cheek, but he didn’t move to wipe it away. He nodded insistently. “I know how much he means to you,” Minho continued. “I know it would have killed you to lose him.”

“So you were going to make me lose both of you at once?” Newt said. His voice rose in pitch, his composure slipping. Another tear slipped out, and he squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, Minho was regarding him with something almost like fear. “It would kill me to lose you, too. Either of you.”

“Well, thanks to Thomas, you didn’t. Lose either of us.” Minho’s tone was light, almost nonchalant. Newt could tell he was trying to deflect.

“Alby wouldn’t even have been around for Thomas to save if you hadn’t saved him in the first place,” Newt pointed out.

Minho had no response. Suddenly the crushing relief that neither of his best friends were dead hit him fully, and he collapsed against Minho. He felt Minho stiffen at first, hesitating, but then he slowly, slowly relaxed, and his arms went around Newt’s back to rub comfortingly. Newt’s arms rested on Minho’s chest, and his fingers curled into the material of Minho’s shirt.

“Thank you, Minho,” he sobbed, and once he started he couldn’t stop. “Thank you. Thank you.” He said the words over and over, as if the more times he repeated them the better Minho would understand the depths of his gratitude. His body shook and he cried into Minho’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Hey,” Minho said softly. “Hey, it’s ok.” He kept rubbing Newt’s back. “It’s ok,” he repeated. “We’re fine. We made it out.”

Eventually the storm blew itself out, and Newt sat back, wiping his eyes. “Sorry about that,” he said, laughing with embarrassment.

“Nah, you’re good. It’s been a weird couple of days,” Minho told him, shrugging. “Besides, I know you’re really just mad because now you don’t get to be the leader anymore.” Minho grinned at him.

Newt laughed. “Exact opposite, more like. I’m bloody relieved. I have no idea what the ever-lovin’ shuck I’m doing. Can’t wait for Alby to take the reins back.”

“It might be a while before he’s fit to be in charge again,” Minho cautioned. “But I’m sure you’ve been doing just fine.”

Newt looked down at his lap and picked at a hole in his trousers. “Really? Because I feel like I’ve been making a right mess of things.” He snuck a glance up at Minho. “I’m much better as a second-in-command. I can’t hack all this ‘leader’ stuff.”

“Better you than me,” Minho said grimly.

Newt sighed, leaning his head on his hands. “We’re supposed to have a Gathering tomorrow, about what to do with Thomas. And I have no idea what to do, Min. I’m completely out of my depth.”

“You’ve done Gatherings before.”

“I haven’t led them, though. Not by myself. Not without Alby.” He covered his face with his hands and sighed again. “And you know nothing like this has ever happened before. There’s no precedent to follow.”

“Hey,” Minho said, and Newt felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Minho looking encouragingly at him. “You can do this. I know you can. You’re a good leader, Newt.”

“If you say so,” Newt said sadly. He stood up. “I should let you rest. You’ve had a rough night.” He managed a small smile as Minho rolled his eyes, then settled back down on the bed. When Minho closed his eyes, Newt left the room, closing the door quietly.

Despite Minho’s reassurance, he still felt completely inadequate to the task. He would have to make important decisions, decisions that might have serious consequences, even death. The lives of every one of the boys in the Glade rested in his hands.

If only there was a sure path. If only his choices had an obviously correct answer. Instead, everything was confused and muddled and unclear. No matter what he decided, someone would insist he had chosen wrong. And maybe he _would_ make the wrong choice. He had no way of knowing. Maybe he would accidentally kill them all.

_Please wake up soon, Alby._

* * *

Newt was feeling wounded and misused, pacing the hallway outside Alby’s room. He couldn’t believe Alby wanted to talk to the Greenie, who he’d known for less than a week, and not him, who he’d known for two years. He was used to being Alby’s closest confidant. And Alby had just finished going through the Changing; shouldn’t he want a familiar face? A friend?

If he was thinking logically, he knew Alby must want to talk to Thomas about something he had seen during the Changing. Maybe he had seen Thomas, as Ben and Gally had claimed to see him. But that still didn’t explain why he had insisted Newt leave the room. What was it he didn’t want Newt to know? What could he say to Thomas that he couldn’t say to Newt?

And the worst question of all, the one Newt could barely bring himself to think: would Alby still be the Alby that he knew? Or would he, like the others who had been Stung, be different? Newt didn’t know what he would do if Alby was a different person. If Alby was no longer his friend.

Thomas’s shout cut through Newt’s thoughts, and he was through the door before Thomas even finished his sentence. Time froze for a second as he assessed the situation; he immediately realised the reason Thomas had called for him.

Alby was trying to choke himself.

Newt jumped into action, pinning Alby’s upper body and urging Thomas to get his legs. It took both of them to hold Alby down so Newt could pry his hands away from his own throat. And then suddenly, Alby was still and calm.

Alby said he was sorry. That something had been controlling him.

Newt glared at him. He was livid beyond words that Alby, of all people, would try to kill himself, after what he’d said to Newt, what he’d forced Newt to promise, when -

“Sorries, nothin’,” he said angrily. “You were trying to bloody kill yourself.” That Alby would do this, _Alby,_ made him so furious he almost wanted to choke Alby himself. He clenched his fists to stop them shaking.

“Wasn’t me, I swear.”

“What do you mean it wasn’t you?” _This didn’t make any damn sense._

“I don’t know… It… it wasn’t me.” It was the confusion on Alby’s face that finally made him pause. He truly looked like he had no idea what had just happened, any more than Newt did.

As difficult as it was to believe that something had been controlling Alby’s body to make him choke himself, it was still preferable to the idea that Alby could betray Newt, betray the promise between them, so deeply. And besides, it wouldn’t be out of line with what the Creators had done so far. However, it was a profoundly troubling idea that they would need to consider further. But later, after Alby had rested. He looked ready to fall unconscious.

“Get your butt to sleep and we’ll talk about it later,” he said, patting Alby gently on the head. “You’re messed up, shank.” He had better not be lying. He better not have actually tried to kill himself. Or Newt would have some very choice words for him.

* * *

Alby hadn’t been the same since he’d been Stung. That’s what Newt told Thomas, and it was true. It broke Newt’s heart. Alby had been the one to give Newt hope, a purpose, when he had none. And now Alby had lost all hope, just when it seemed they finally had a chance to escape this miserable hellhole. He had burned the maps; he didn’t seem to want to contribute any ideas for survival or escape; he had even taken a shot at Newt about his bum leg, when he knew better than anyone, except perhaps Minho, how sensitive Newt was about it. He kept walking around talking about how awful the outside world was. How they were better off dead than out there. How nothing they did mattered. That kind of talk was alarmingly similar to his own thoughts when he was in his darkest moments; but he had never expected to hear it from Alby. Alby had always been the optimistic one. Newt had no idea what he had seen during the Changing, but it must have been something terrible, to produce such a stark change in his friend.

Newt was hanging on by a thread. Between Thomas and Gally and the shuckin’ girl and the maps and so many boys being taken on his watch, so many deaths on his hands, he was at his wits’ end.

In the end, it came down to Thomas. Whether he trusted Thomas or not. And he didn’t know why, but he did. Unquestionably. He knew there was no logical explanation; in fact he had multiple reasons _not_ to trust Thomas, but the fact remained that something deep inside him believed without a doubt that Thomas was their ticket out of here. _His_ ticket out of here.

So now he just had to convince Alby to get on board.

“Hey, Alby,” he said quietly, walking up to where the other boy was sitting by himself in the Deadheads. “Have you heard the news? We’re making a run for it. Tonight.”

Alby didn’t look up. “So he convinced everyone, did he?”

“Not really,” Newt replied. “He convinced me, and _I_ convinced everyone.”

Alby finally looked up at him. “How can you be so sure?” he asked softly. “How do you know you can trust him? After everything everyone who’s been through the Changing has said about him?”

“I don’t know,” Newt admitted. “I just do. I trust him. Maybe I’m making a horrible mistake, but I’m going with my gut, and my gut says he’s our ticket out of here.”

“You know, it actually doesn’t surprise me,” Alby said, laughing harshly. “I don’t remember everything, but I remember some. And I remember the two of you. You always trusted him, always believed him, no matter how many times he screwed you over.”

Against his will, Newt felt his pulse quickening. “What are you talking about?” he asked sharply. “What do you mean, the two of us?”

Alby shook his head. “I can’t…” he sighed. “I’ve already said too much. We don’t want a repeat of what happened last time I tried to talk about what I remember, do we?”

Newt took a step closer. He considered pressing Alby further, but then decided against it. Whatever Alby meant, it didn’t matter. It didn’t change the fact that Newt trusted Thomas, and he was going to escape with him tonight, or die trying.

“Come with us,” Newt pleaded softly. “Just come with us, Alby. We can figure out what to do, where to go, after that. One step at a time.”

Newt was startled to see a tear trickling down Alby’s cheek. “What if there’s nowhere to go? What then?”

“We can find somewhere,” Newt promised him. “There has to be somewhere out there that we can go, somewhere that’s not ruined. Somewhere we can be free.”

Alby sniffed. He waited a long time before answering, and Newt was genuinely beginning to worry he wouldn’t be able to convince him. What would he do if Alby refused to go with them? How could he leave without his friend, his best friend besides Minho?

Finally Alby spoke. “Alright,” he said, wiping his nose and sniffing again. “I’ll leave with you.”

Newt breathed a sigh of relief. “We’re gonna make it,” he said, reassuring himself as much as Alby. “We’ll get out of here, and then we’ll find somewhere to go. I promise. There has to be somewhere out there for us to go.”

Alby met his eye but didn’t say anything. When he looked back down at the ground, his face resolute, Newt felt a chill of foreboding, but he squashed it down, repeating his own words to himself.

_We’re gonna make it. There has to be somewhere out there. We’re gonna make it._

* * *

The preparations were made. The pep talks given. Everyone was _bloody_ inspired.

Newt didn’t have much attention to spare for Alby; most of his focus was on trying to run without his bad leg giving out. But what attention he could spare, he used to desperately convince himself that Alby was fine. That Alby was almost back to his normal self; that they were leaving and Alby was coming with them and they would all make it out alive.

Perhaps if he’d spared just a little more attention, he would have noticed that Alby was not fine. But he didn’t notice, not until it was too late.

“Maybe I should…” Alby said, and before Newt realised what was happening he was walking towards the Cliff. Towards the army of Grievers.

“Alby?” Newt called in disbelief. “Get back here!” But it only made Alby move faster, as if the sound of Newt’s voice were chasing Alby away from him.

Newt felt like he was trapped in a dream. In a nightmare. He watched Alby run towards the Grievers. He didn’t realise he was screaming and fighting his way towards him until he felt Thomas’s hands on his arms, holding him back.

Even as he watched Alby being dismembered, he fought harder. All reasonable thought was frozen, and the only thing in his head was that if he could just get to Alby, if he could just reach him in time, he could fix him. He could save Alby, as Alby had once saved him, when he should have been beyond help.

_It’s not too late. I can save him. I can still save him._

But eventually, the realisation sunk in that it was too late, there was no saving Alby now.

He was gone.

When it finally hit him, Newt collapsed. He couldn’t look away, his eyes glued to the place where he had last seen Alby alive. It didn’t feel real. Nothing felt real. This had to be some horrifying dream.

“I can’t believe it,” he heard himself whisper. His voice sounded strange to his own ears. “I can’t believe he just did that.” Alby had killed himself by throwing himself to the Grievers. That idea seemed so incongruous with the memory of Alby, sitting in the recovery room with Newt after the incident, extracting a promise from him that he would never again try to take his own life. And yet Alby had done exactly what he had made Newt promise not to do. It had to be a dream.

But it wasn’t a dream. It was real.

He was dimly aware of Thomas and Minho, still planning their escape through the Griever hole. As though nothing had happened. As though Alby hadn’t just been brutally slaughtered in front of their eyes.

“How can you guys be so heartless?” he mumbled, suddenly furious at their callous attitude. He heard Minho respond, but he couldn’t process the words. He stared at what was left of Alby’s body, as though seeing the blood and gore would help the truth sink in. Alby, who had saved him from the maze, given him a second chance, was dead.

Only one word that Minho said made it through the fog in his brain. ‘Sacrifice’ was the word Minho used, and it echoed in Newt’s otherwise blank mind. _Sacrifice._

Had it really been a sacrifice? Or had it simply been an escape?

Everything else went by in a blur. He had no time to process; he could barely acknowledge each death before the next one was happening. His friends, his brothers, his Gladers. The only family he could remember. And when the fighting cleared, when the Grievers shut down, only half of the boys who had come to escape with them remained standing.

So many dead. Too many.

Newt tried to take comfort in the fact that Minho was still alive, and Thomas. Frypan, Winston, Chuck. Half of them were still here. But it was little comfort.

And of course, just when they thought they were safe, when they thought they had finished losing friends, the Creators had one more trick up their sleeves.

Gally was there. And then Chuck wasn’t.

Newt watched Thomas fall apart, listened to his cries of pain and anguish, and felt a stab of sorrow pierce his heart as his eyes filled with tears. He knew exactly how Thomas felt. But the tears didn’t fall; not until much later, alone in his bunk after nearly everyone else had fallen asleep, and his mind went quiet enough for the memories to start returning. He thought back over two years’ worth of memories with Alby, and the tears finally began to fall, hot and thick. He buried his face in his pillow to muffle the sound.

The truth, he now realised, was that he had never expected to outlive Alby. Alby had seemed untouchable, somehow. And even though Alby was far from perfect, having someone who was always there, solidly reliable, had helped Newt even more than he knew.

Until Alby was no longer there for him to lean on. With his support ripped out from under him, Newt was falling, helplessly twisting and turning as he tumbled down. He didn’t like it; it reminded him too much of another fall.

Newt had come to regret that promise that he made to Alby, and even at times resent it. But he had always intended to keep it, or at least to try his absolute best. Alby has saved him, given him a second chance, and he had wanted to try his hardest to live up to Alby’s expectations. He had wanted to make Alby proud of him.

Was it even worth it, to keep a promise to a dead man?

Newt tried to calm himself. He still had friends to live for. They had escaped the maze, and maybe now they could finally find somewhere that could be a true home for them.

His tears slowed, then stopped, and the weariness of everything that had happened that day caught up with him. His last thought before he drifted off to sleep was of Thomas. Newt still trusted him, now more than ever. Thomas had gotten them out of the maze, and Thomas would get them home, wherever that may be. And Newt would follow him to the ends of the earth, if necessary.


End file.
